


forever and a day

by Magali_Dragon



Series: all the world's a stage [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Haircuts, Jon does something stupid and dany is NOT happy, Mustaches, No Plot/Plotless, Targlings (ASoIaF), but she gets back at him, cannot leave this universe for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Jon comes home with what he thinks is a surprise for Dany, which she is not a fan of.  But Jon woke the dragon and she ends up getting back at him in return.Meanwhile, Viserys wants them to just go away and Missandei is the bestest of best friends.Chronologically set between chapter 19 and 20 ofall the world's a stage.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: all the world's a stage [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594456
Comments: 21
Kudos: 240





	forever and a day

**Author's Note:**

> This came from me scrolling through Instagram and seeing old photos of Kit's mustache from _True West_ and immediately I thought of Emilia's short hair and since I was bored and can't get out of this universe, I wrote this little ditty. It is pure nothing. 
> 
> There is another fic in this universe that is more angsty/drama that I'm planning too, but I like the fun ones for now.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185802593@N06/49363918988/in/dateposted-public/)

Dany set down her script, marked up, tabbed, highlighted, and rolled in so many places it barely resembled a bound sheaf of papers and looked more like a newspaper that had been in the gutter in a rainstorm for several days. She could barely make out the watermark of her name across the top page, her eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to looking at something other than Courier New font. She supposed it would be worse if it was in Comic Sans.

Then again, Jon Snow would probably murder someone if they even joked about printing one of his scripts in Comic Sans.

“I’ll have to remember that,” she said out loud, chuckling. She got to her feet, muscles cramping in protest and joints cracking, her morning yoga routine not taking as she began to stretch out the kinks from sitting in her favorite chair all afternoon, working on her script. The first rehearsals for the play began at the Victoria Theater in a week and she wanted to be sharp.

It was quite a thing, the limited-run of Jon’s famous _The Long Night_ with Oscar-winning actress Daenerys Targaryen playing the female lead, a role that had changed drastically in the film version, solely for her. The run was a way for her to get back to work after her long and lovely time adjusting to motherhood, content to work on optioning films, working behind the camera and focusing on her charities.

She was getting the bug though, the bug to return to treading the boards.

She walked over to the kitchen, reaching for the tea kettle and filling it with water, setting it with a loud clang on the old stove. Once the flame was set under it, she went over to the adjacent set of rooms off the kitchen, which once had been Bran’s place when he came to visit and had now turned into a nursery wing. It was just when they wanted even more peace than their home nearby afforded, but she couldn’t always concentrate in the huge new construction family home they’d built on the grounds of Jon’s old place, and she liked to return to the little crofter’s cottage when she wanted to work. It was where he always went anyway when he was working on something new.

Their daughter, now two-years old, popped her head over the crib, her chubby cheeks flushed pink from sleep and her purple eyes heavy-lidded, just waking up from her nap. “Ma!” she exclaimed, arms up, her feet stamping hard on the mattress, giggling for her mother. “Mamamamama!”

“Oh my sweet little dragon, did you have a good nap?” she cooed, lifting her little girl into her arms, nuzzling her soft hair, the brown, almost black curls springing about her face. She was so warm and pink and perfect, her little dragonwolf. Her lips brushed over the soft curls, before dropping to Lyella’s forehead, kissing her widow’s peak, just like her Papa’s. The toddler smelled like her lavender soap, baby powder, and the honey sticky-bun she’d been allowed to have that morning. It seemed no amount of washing her hands would get rid of the sugar, she thought with a chuckle, kissing the little fingers.

She carried her from the room, pointing to Ghost, who was stretched in front of the fireplace. “Gho!” Lyella shouted. She pointed, chattering, trying to repeat the wolf’s name.

“Hmm, yes love, that’s Ghost.”

The kettle was already steaming, so she took it off, puttering one-armed in the kitchen as she held her daughter on her hips. It was something she’d perfected in the last two years. Her tea now ready, Dany carried her to sit on the chair, to nuzzle her baby in her lap, savoring the moment. She cuddled her daughter, watching the little fingers play with her watch and begin to twist her wedding ring around. The rubies and sapphires winked up, the firelight shimmering over them. It was a beautiful sight, her daughter’s little hand on hers, her feet encased in her little pink socks, chubby rolls of skin falling over her ankles and creasing the gray leggings with pink hearts on them at the knee.

It had been awhile, so she picked up her phone and framed the shot as best she could, her feet on the ottoman, Ghost in front of the fire. She took the snap, sizing it up and smiling at the picture. “Your daddy isn’t the only photographer,” she mused, thinking of Jon’s newest hobby to keep his idle hands busy when he wasn’t furiously typing or writing. Somehow, he’d come to be a brilliant photographer, some of his images gracing her Instagram.

The big one she’d posted was of her standing on a cliff in Spain, a scarf over her hair, silver curls coming loose, hands on her hips. She hadn’t said he was the photographer, but he’d admitted it in a rare interview they’d done. Said she was a movie star—which she was—except an old-fashioned one like Grace Kelly or Elizabeth Taylor.

The photo uploaded to her Instagram, captioned with _Somewhere between awake and dreaming. This is my motherhood._

She added her hashtags, giggling at the absurdity of them. They were so hard to read! She had no idea how she’d gotten started doing them like that. **#babyfeetaresogoodtoeat #gotmybabyback #rollsonrollsonrolls #mommydaughtertime #savoringthisbecauseonedayshe’sgonna’betoobig**

A few emoticons of hearts, fireplace, and a wolf rounded it out. She posted the image and did a quick scroll through. She rarely read the comments on her posts, which was unfortunate she knew, because some people genuinely posted nice things. They ranged from just little heart-eye smiley faces to almost novel-length comments aligning themselves with her or expressing support for her work, her charities, or her family. The unfortunate thing was that for all those wonderful comments there were some of people who were just cruel. Nasty things still said to her about Drogo, Daario, or Rhaegar. Things people even said about Jon, claiming she didn’t deserve him, he was a prick, he was rude, and he was unworthy of her.

Then of course there were the ones that just made her laugh. The ones that said “Show me your tits” or “Your hot” with the wrong grammar of course.

She just figured it best if she avoided everything all together. Missandei and a few others at the production company combed through the comments though, pulling the really good ones, if there were some that warranted her to possibly send a follow-up. Or the ones that threatened her. That way they could be deleted quickly and the police notified if necessary. She hated those ones. Thank the gods she’d only had one or two since Lyella’s birth. They were really bad before, with the Drogo and Daario drama.

“What’s that asshole up to, huh?” she wondered, checking on his Instagram, seeing him with some model of course. His career had naturally bottomed out, as it was always going to do, when a new action star hit the scene with twenty versions of the same movie. She patted Lyella’s side, the baby having fallen into the crook of her elbow, suckling on her thumb.

One of Lyella’s sharp little canines chomped on her thumbnail, jerking her up. The toddler giggled. “Ouch,” she said.

“Yes, ouch! Ouch for your Mummy.” She kissed her head again, sending a text to Missandei to let her know she’d posted a new picture. It joined the others on there of Lyella’s feet or hands of the top of her head, but never her face. Just enough to let people feel like they were a part of her life, but giving her daughter the privacy she wanted her to have. The _normal_ life. Unless of course her daughter wanted to be an actress.

Viserys would no doubt be pleased. His little _Parasite_ as he called her affectionately, would be a star under his tutelage. Even though she feared what would become of her child if Viserys got his claws into her. A raging diva like her uncle, no doubt.

Her phone buzzed. She thought it might be Missandei, but saw Viserys’s text. “Does your uncle have a monitor in my head or something?” she asked out loud. Lyella cooed in response.

_Photo is too cute. It’s disgusting. Do something more interesting next time._

She sent back: _Fuck you Uncle Vis._

He just replied with: _Aw, you wound. Cow._ Since Vis never used emoticons, finding them juvenile and downright freaky, she suspected he would have added a winking one or a tongue sticking out one.

“This one is cute,” she said, finding another one of her shots from when she was pregnant, just the top of her stomach and barely the tops of her toes. A couple others, some of Jon looking rather surly, but then one where he’d gotten hold of a cape from wardrobe in the movie version of _As You Like It_ and was standing on a windy cliff, pretending he was a dragon. She chuckled at her daughter. “Your Papa thinks he’s so funny.”

She picked up her script, intent on reading it again, but she couldn’t. Eyes were blurry, her heart wasn’t in it at the moment to _study_. She wanted to just cuddle in the warmth of the cottage, in her thick knit socks and Jon’s Night’s Watch hoodie, which had stretched so much from her wearing it during her pregnancy that it swamped her now.

This is my life now, she thought with a smile, staring at her daughter, who was yawning, perhaps not entirely done with her nap, violet eyes disappearing every few seconds behind her heavy little lids. They were almost translucent, the dark lashes licking at her cheeks. She had her father’s eyes, despite the coloring of them. His nose and smile. His thick dark curls and mulish expression. There was no denying to the world that this was his daughter. They’d allowed a photoshoot after she’d given birth, the only known photos of her daughter’s face, peeking from a blanket as they held her and posed with her in the backyard of the townhouse in London.

She picked up her phone, thinking about taking a photo to send to Jon, when she saw his text. Her eyes widened, heart plummeting.

_Don’t be mad._

“Oh what did he do?” she murmured. She bit her lip, texting fast with her thumb. _Why? What’s wrong?_

_I may have done something you won’t like._

_No shit. What is it?_ She stared at the phone, but he didn’t reply. Not even the little three dots saying he was typing. Her stomach flipped. It couldn’t be anything too bad, he wouldn’t have texted her. He would have waited to tell her. “Oh what is it?” she fretted, biting her bottom lip, all but shredding the skin as she chewed it.

The front door opened, feet stomping snow off onto the inside mat. “Hey! Dany!”

“Arya?”

Arya turned the corner from the entryway, removing scarf and hat, mousy brown hair flying every which way from the static. She flattened it with her hand, grinning at her niece. “Hello little ninja!”

Lyella squealed, wide awake now, reaching for her aunt. Dany let her fall to the floor, her chubby legs hauling her over to join Arya. “Do you know what this is about?” she asked, reading the texts from Jon, staring up at her good-sister’s expression. “He’s scaring me.”

“Uh, I might.”

“Is it really bad? He didn’t…” She swallowed hard, not wanting to bring herself to say it. _Fall off the wagon._ It was her biggest fear with Jon. One she did not think he would do, but addiction was a horrible monster. “Or did he do something stupid with Vis?”

“You’ll see. Trust me, it’s not as bad as he says.” Arya paused. “Well, sort of.”

“Oh my gods.”

“It was a dare, you see.”

Her eyes widened. “A dare?!”

“Well…Tormund made him a bet about his Oscar for _As You Like It._ Said that if he didn’t get a nomination, Tormund would do something Jon didn’t think he’d ever do, but if Jon got the nomination, then he had to do the thing that he didn’t think Tormund would do,” Arya said, clearly trying to avoid the topic. She chuckled, nervous. “Ah…clearly Jon got the nomination so he finally cashed in.”

“Why would he think he wouldn’t get the nomination?” Dany had no idea why she asked that, of course she knew. Even to this day, Jon Snow still did not think he was as brilliant a writer as he truly was. She rolled her eyes, getting to her feet. “Nevermind.”

“Good call.”

The door opened while she had her back to it. “Uh, Dany.”

Jon’s nervous voice filled the kitchen. She closed her eyes, fearing the worst. Did he get a tattoo on his face or something? No, he’d never do that. He was terrified of needles. Maybe he sold his car and got something stupid? No, he wouldn’t do that. Did he re-enlist in the military? No way.

“What did you do?”

“Turn around,” Arya laughed. Lyella clearly saw something she didn’t like, the baby bursting into tears. Jon made a strangled sound. “Oh damn Jon, your daughter doesn’t even like it.”

“Oh my…” Dany closed her eyes, clenching them shut, whipping around on her heel, before she opened her eyes, her breath held in her throat, wondering what it was that Jon did. She took in the sight, bit by bit. Arya standing there, holding a crying Lyella, who was blubbering something about her Papa. Arya could not stop laughing, her entire body shaking, which wasn’t helping to calm down the baby.

And Jon…

Her mouth dropped.

“What the fuck did you do?”

It was all gone. All of it. Well, most of it.

His hair. His beautiful, beautiful, long, silky curls…they were…she stared, trying to piece together the man that stood in front of her with the one that left the house to go to the _fucking grocery store._ That was it. He was supposed to go to the grocery store to get more milk and somehow, he’d what? Cashed in on his bet with Tormund? She made a sound, similar to Jon’s distressed one at his daughter crying at him. Well of course Lyanna was crying!

When he’d left the house, his hair was down around his neck. It had gotten a bit long of late, but she liked it that way. It was always curly and wavy, but now with it short the curls had sprung tighter and waved over his head. He reached to flatten it nervously. They were barely long enough to touch his collar, everything sheared off.

And to make it worse, his beard was gone.

Dany had only seen him without his beard twice and she hated it. She felt like she was kissing a per-pubescent teenager, he seemed to age in reverse. He looked like he was twelve with his pale naked baby face. The beard gave him the roguish, rakish, bad boy quality she loved about him. It felt wonderful when she kissed him, gave Lyella something to grab from time to time, and it was just… _him._ She’d fallen in love with Jon with a beard.

This though…

The beard was gone, but in its place was a mustache. It was long and thick, looked like something you’d see on a 19th century American president or some stupid thing. Or something out of the Victorian era. Or on a mafia don.

“What…”

“Bye.” Arya disappeared, hauling Lyella into her ‘wing’ of the house. She may have left the room, but Dany knew she’d be listening at the closed door.

"You hate it."

"I...I..." She stuttered. To be honest, she was truly and utterly speechless. People said that all the time, but in her case, in this very moment, it was 100% accurate. She had no idea what she was even supposed to say. She gaped, shaking her head, mouth opening and closing, finally settling on shut. There had to be more of an explanation for this. She closed her eyes, waited a beat, and opened one.

Nope, his hair was still short, and he still had that... _thing_...under his nose.

He twitched the mustache, reaching to stroke at it. "I kind of like it."

"Like it?" she whispered. _He could not possibly like that thing._

She had no idea how pale he really was until she saw the black of the mustache against the skin now exposed on his cheeks, jaw, and chin. Sometimes she forgot how strong a jaw he really had, it was always covered with his beard. She shook her head again, but he spoke, continuing, still stroking the thing. "Tormund said he's shave his beard and cut his hair, so of course I had to agree to the bet."

"Of course."

"And then I _got_ that nomination, I mean I had no idea..."

"No of course not." _Why would you think you're capable of getting an Oscar nomination? You've only won one already as well as dozens of other awards._

"So I went to the pub after the grocery store...oh they were out of that almond butter that Lyella likes..."

She blinked. He was talking about _almond butter_?!

"And Tormund said that I had to follow through, so we went to the barber..." He waved his hand to his hair. "And here it is."

"Here it is," she breathed, eyes still wide. Unblinking. If she blinked, it would still be there. His luscious locks gone, his rakish beard just...reduced to that thick monstrosity on his upper lip. She pressed her lips together in a fine line. She never thought of herself as a controlling wife. They were equals in everything they did. She had no idea she would have to make a _rule_ about his hair. Seems like she would need to do so. "And you kept the mustache?"

"Well the bet was just shave his beard and I know you think I look like I've twelve without facial hair."

"No, you thought looking like the Monopoly Man was the way to go."

He blinked. "You don't like my mustache?"

"Jon that's not a mustache, it's a porn star relief pitcher!"

Now he looked affronted. "I think it looks good!"

"Fine." She arched her brow, arms crossing over her chest, smirking. "Let's see what _Lyella_ has to think about it."

"Arya! Bring my daughter to me!"

The door opened, Arya smirking as she carted out the toddler, who took one look at Jon and then cried again. Dany shook her head, taking the child from her good-sister, bouncing her on her hip. "It's Daddy, sweetness, can't you see? I know, he looks kind of scary."

"Piller." She pointed to his lip, her fingers feeling along the mustache. She looked around him, frowning. She always liked to grab his hair, especially if he had it pulled back into a bun. There was nothing for her to grab. Lyella's little brows pushed together to a simple line. Not unlike her father's new facial feature. She pointed again. "Piller."

_Piller?_

Jon took her, scowling. "She still loves me."

"What does Piller me?" Arya wondered.

Dany had no idea. Not until later that evening, when Lyella was choosing a book to read, and picked up one of her favorites, carrying it over to Jon, pointing to it again. "Piller," she announced, holding the book up

Jon looked mortified, his pale cheeks flushing red, while Dany roared laughing, clapping her hands, unable to contain her glee. “You’re so smart my little dragonwolf!”

Lyella had handed him Eric Carle's _The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar._

~/~/~/~

"I must say this is truly getting back at Jon for what he did."

Dany smiled, studying her reflection in the mirror as she took a snap of her phone. She looked down at it and uploaded it to her Instagram. _If Jon can do it, so can I!_ the caption read. She added hashtags, including the '@' for Locks of Love, and figured it would be totally worth it to see her husband's response.

The photo she'd posted of him, scowling over his coffee mug in the morning with his mustache and short hair had garnered some of the most feedback she'd ever gotten on her Instagram, basically everyone with the same reaction she had had. It would grow back, she knew, but Jon was adamant he liked the short hair. It was the mustache that she couldn't abide, it would have to go soon enough. It wasn't like he had it for a role, although he was working on a play set in the 1970s, so yes, someone in the production would need to have their facial hair cut into the style of the day.

Missy chuckled at her, swirling around in the chair at the stylist's. "So, I take it you're still not a fan of the 'stache?"

"I mean, it's sort of growing on me, but when he's between my legs it feels so weird."

"That can be a good thing."

"Hmm." It was different, that was for certain. Jon had certainly made it up to her the evening he'd come home with his new style, but she'd been disappointing to find that there was nothing really for her to grab, other than digging her nails into his skull. The mustache certainly tickled with each kiss. It made her laugh, until he was making her moan. Always his 'm.o.'

They departed the stylist's, had lunch, and went shopping. She was in a mood, so she purchased about half of Celine's new spring collection, admiring her new bag as she made her way out of the store with it. Her birthday was coming up, she told herself. They went into another store and she bought Lyella a ton of new clothes, little bows for her hair, and a pair of sparkly snow boots.

Arm-in-arm, they made their way back to the car, before driving off to the house. "Any idea what Jon's getting you for your birthday?" Missy wondered.

"Hmm, I hinted that there's this watch I really like, but it's a small fortune, I don't know."

"You'll be in Paris that week, for early press on _Christmas With You._ "

The Christmas movie she'd done had only taken four weeks to film, in London, and she quite enjoyed doing it. It was a fun little romantic comedy, a nice ease into post-Oscar and post-motherhood film making for her. The role had essentially been written for her and Jon approved the script. It was a fun thing for her, being offered these roles now because she was _Daenerys Targaryen, the Night Queen._ No longer going hat in hand to studios, begging for an opportunity to audition. Or constantly being _Princess Periwinkle._

She would only be in Paris a couple days, then Berlin, and then back to London. Jon would have Lyella and then together they would fly to New York and Los Angeles before returning. She would start rehearsals in London and then have two months on the stage, before taking another break. "I'll have my birthday party in London, Jon can surprise me with whatever he wants when I'm in Paris."

"Last year we were in Paris too."

"Yes, that was for that conference. Remember the brunch?" She smiled fondly. She had Lyella with her, Jon was working on his script back in Scotland. They hated being away, but to her shock he'd called the hotel and had 33 _pain aux raisin_ sent up with a bottle of Dom Perignon for her and Missy and anyone else who happened to be nearby. The boy did know how to treat her, she thought fondly, for all his stupidity with other things.

Like cutting off his _fucking_ hair.

She reached up to lightly touch her new hairstyle. Missy chuckled. "He's going to lose it. Do you think he's going to find out before you show him?"

"He doesn't even know what Instagram is, he'll be fine."

~/~/~/~

Jon sang under his breath, bouncing Lyella up and down on his knee as he scanned through one of the latest versions of his play. "Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh," he idly sang, as Lyella clapped her hands with him, holding her Pooh bear stuffed animal in one hand. "Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff he's..." he trailed off, frowning at a major error. Somehow he'd dropped an entire scene! _How did that happen?_ It was probably Dany interrupting him.

He shook his head. "Daddy is dumb, can't believe he forgot this part of his script, duh-duh-duh...duh-duh.." he sang along, to the same tune as the song.

Lyella mumbled along. "Pooh!"

"Hmm," he mumbled, forgetting the rest of the lyrics. Which he didn't quite understand how, as the adventures of the honey-obsessed bear was currently on constant rotation, probably her favorite thing in the world at that moment, other than playing with Ghost and torturing her Uncle Vis. He heard his phone buzz, somewhere behind him.

The study in London was almost an exact replica-- or as close as he could get-- to the one in Scotland. it helped him focus better that way. He turned in his chair, hoisting Lyella up and over his shoulder, spinning in a circle a few times, her cries of joy forcing him to question why he was spending his time working on the play when he could be just playing with her. He picked up the phone, wedged in the cushions, seeing a text from Arya.

_**You are gonna lose your shit at what Dany did.** _

_Oh no._ He was wondering when she was going to get back at him for his 'bet' with Tormund. He actually liked the short hair. Although he would never admit to her that he did kind of miss the way she tugged and pulled at it when they were in bed together or the ease with which he could just run his fingers through when he got stressed. Except he did like that he didn't constantly walk around looking like a mad scientist when he was stressed or have it be a dead giveaway that he and Dany were fooling around. The beard going was kind of nice. He didn't like having to shave every single day though, which was the only reason he was growing it back.

Only after he sufficiently tortured Dany with his "pornstache" as she kept referring to it. Lyella had grown fond of it though, always touching his upper lip and then putting her finger under her nose so she had one too.

It had been a week; surely Dany had gotten over it?

It was just a bet, but she had to understand how seriously those things went between men. If he backed out of it, Tormund would never let him live it down. He'd be craven. You couldn't be craven, especially with Tormund. Although looking back, he really shouldn't have made the bet. He just _really_ did not think he was going to get an Oscar nomination for adapting a classic Shakespeare play for the screen. The movie had done amazing, even if Jamie Lannister had somehow gotten a role in it, which pissed him off.

He glanced at Lyella, who was looking at the phone, trying to push the screen with her chubby thumb. "What did your Mummy do?"

"Jon!"

Her beautiful, melodic voice called through the house. "In here!" he shouted.

"Shut up you both!" Vis screamed from somewhere.

 _Huh, didn't even know he as home._ Jon left his study, walking down the hall and to the large stretch of hall-- the bridge-- that crossed the main foyer and sitting area over to Vis's wing. He glanced down over to the foyer, seeing Dany disappear, her dark coat tossed onto one of the little chairs by the table where she kept her keys. He scowled at the mountain of Celine bags that filled the hall. "Your Mummy has a Celine problem."

He called down, walking around the stairs toward the kitchen. "Been birthday shopping, huh?" He really hoped she hadn't bought the watch she'd been hinting to him. It was the Patek Phillippe one that matched his, that she'd gotten him for his birthday the previous year. He had already bought it, keen on giving it to her on her actual birthday. He also had a few other things in the works of course. Wouldn't be Dany's birthday without some fun. He was thinking of the fun they'd have, the party she was going to have that Missy was putting on for her, but he'd go even if he didn't like hanging with everyone, and then after they'd go to the theatre and....

His thoughts ended abruptly at what he saw in the kitchen.

And what she _did._

His mouth dropped. Oh gods, what did she do? It was...it was...

Dany smirked at him, twirling around, her boot heels clicking on the tile. "You like it? Bit different, I know, but I thought I'd..." She bit hard on her words, violet eyes sparkling with mirth, eyebrows lifted, the dagger digging straight into his ribs. "Make a bet with Missy."

He couldn't speak, strangled voice in his throat. "Dany," he croaked.

Lyella giggled, stuffing her fingers into his mouth, still open in shock. She turned, eyes lighting at her mother. "Mamaaaa!"

"Hi my love!"

 _Hi my love?_ Did she seriously just say that as though she hadn't just _massacred_ her beautiful, beautiful, gorgeous...silky...exotic...her... A sound came out of him. He realized it was a sob. "Dany!"

"Yes Jon?"

"What did you _do_?!"

She cocked her head. Nothing hung down around her face or shoulders like it normally did with such a movement. He moved to her, pulling at the spiky strands. She swiped at his hands. "Hey! stop! What are you doing?"

"Is it a wig? Is this a prank?"

"No! I will have you know that fifteen inches of my hair is now on its way to make wigs for Locks of Love," Dany sniffed. She shook her head from side to side, some of the spiky bangs over her eyes swishing side to side. She grinned. "I think it's kind of cute."

There was no way he was going to admit that it did have a sexy, rock star sort of quality to it. The pixie cut with the longer hair atop to serve as bangs showed off her slim neck, the earrings on her lobes dangling and diamonds in them blazing brighter. It forced her eyes to stand out even further, the violet almost blinding. She was like a little sprite, he thought. An elf. Like a real-life Tinkerbell. Without the attitude.

He cocked his head again as she turned, giving him a view of the back. Yes, it was sexy. It would grow back. It would take time to grow of course, but it would grow back. He reached to idly touch at the tiny ends of silver at her nape, frowning. His finger dragged down the bumps of her vertebrae, delighting in her shiver. He pressed a kiss to the exposed skin. Swirled his tongue around one of the bumps and then around to behind her ear.

_Hmm, this might not be a bad thing at all._

"What about your braids?" he whispered, nipping her earlobe. "They're your signature."

"People will get over it." She nuzzled Lyella's nose, the toddler giggling and trying to grab for her mother's nose in response. "besides, I think it might be time for a change and you know, Missandei _bet_ me I wouldn't do it."

He sighed. "Okay, I get it. No more bets about my hair or anything."

"Just clue me in next time Jon." He tried to tug on the back of her hair, but there was nothing to hold onto. He growled, frustrated. She grinned, nipping his bottom lip and patted his cheek. "You'll find a way to overcome Jon Snow. As I had to."

 _Yes but that was different._ He made a face. "We'll just have to test it."

The violet ring around her pupils faded as the black centers expanded. She called out. "Hey Vis? Can you come here a moment?"

Once Vis was losing his mind over her cutting off her "moneymaker" as he called it, left to scream and cry and vent and rage in the only way Viserys Targaryen could do, Dany ignoring him the whole time as he wailed over her hair and the upcoming Vanity Fair photo shoot she was supposed to do, Lyella in his arms and having to listen to his complaining, Jon took off to their room, her in tow. They tripped over her shopping bags on the way, Dany snatching up one as she chased him up the stairs, hand in his.

He glanced at the small white bag in her hand. "What's that?"

"Nothing darling."

"It's not nothing."

She pushed him into their room, closing and locking the door, wagging the bag in his face with a grin. "Just a little something. I'll be right back." She knocked him onto the bed and disappeared into the bathroom to change, leaving him wonder exactly how he was going to work with the lack of ropy braids that he liked to twist in his hands as they made love. He supposed he'd have to figure it out, just as she said.

He rolled onto his side, tossing his phone-- on silent now-- into the nightstand drawer, but not before checking to make sure that the watch for her birthday was in there. Along with the silver and diamond ring that he was excited to give her too. Dany _loved_ jewelry and the infinity symbol on it with tiny white diamonds was right up her alley. He smiled, checking on everything one more time, before snapping the drawer shut, rolling onto his back in time to see her exit the bathroom.

"Oh Jon..." she sang, spinning the sash of a sheer black robe in her hand. She grinned at him. "What do you think?"

Honestly, Jon really didn't care about her hair any more, too busy focusing on the barely-there lingerie she was wearing. His mouth went dry. "Uh...looks nice."

"Looks nice?" She approached slowly, a dragon stalking its prey, about to burn him alive. She knelt on the bed, coming to straddle his hips, grinning down at him. "That's all you have to say?"

"Um..."

She leaned down, murmuring over his lips, hand snaking down between them to scrape her nails lightly over his belt buckle. "Hmm, Jon."

"Yeah?" he rasped.

Just when he thought perhaps she might start to unbuckle his belt, slip her firm little hands beyond the waistband of his boxers, and have her way with him, his eyes almost popped out of his head, a squeak escaping his clenched teeth as she squeezed and twisted. His eyes watered. Her voice was no longer breathy, teasing, but firm and ordering. "You cut your hair again without telling me, do anything to your beard, I don't fucking care, I will kill you."

He squeaked. "Yes ma'am."

"Good." She let go, soothingly patting him. "Now, I''ve been thinking, perhaps we should have another baby."

He blinked up at her. "And we're going to have one after what you just did? I think you killed all the Little Jons you need for a baby!"

"Nonsense."

What was _that_ supposed to mean!? He squinted up at her. "You're a mean woman." He reached up, annoyed he couldn't tangle his hands in her tresses and drag her down to his waiting mouth, so he lightly danced his fingers along her exposed nape, before cupping her head and bringing her to him anyway. He kissed her, opening her mouth under his and sliding his tongue along hers, a promise of what was to come on other parts of her body. She moaned into him, fingers curling on the collar of his button-down.

And then she sneezed.

He blinked, surprised. "What was that?"

She sneezed again, wiping at her nose and mouth. "Your mustache! It's coming off right now!" She hauled off of him, pushing hard on his chest as she did so and almost stepping on his groin, which would definitely have killed off any remaining Little Jons that were still alive. She jabbed her finger at him, storming to the bathroom. "That's the last time it's interfering with our love life!"

"How did it interfere before?!"

"It just did! Get in here!" She stuck her head back out, squinting. "If you don't, I'm putting away this outfit and you're sleeping in Vis's guest room."

"I think there are chains hanging from the ceiling in there!" No matter, he was bored of the mustache anyway. He got up, following her into the bathroom and took the seat she kicked out for him from her vanity, acting put out as he stuck his upper lip out to her while she rummaged for shaving cream and a razor. Ugh, the only one she could find was pink. "Seriously Dany?"

"I'll use it elsewhere if you don't shut up." She grabbed his jaw, thumb smoothing along his cheek, smile still flirting on her lips. She leaned in, giving him one more kiss. "Hmm, I have to admit, the short hair is growing on me."

He grinned up. "Well I'm glad for that." he cocked his head, studying her hair. An idea began to form in his mind. A character...cutting their hair after defeat, but managing to overcome and rising above... "Fire and blood," he whispered.

She glanced down at him, her fingers now spread with shaving cream. It smelled like something he assumed was pink. She smeared it on his lip, silencing him. "You have that look in your eyes, an idea for a script. You're already working on one, aren't you?"

That was the play, about two co-stars who fell in love while the other married someone else. Classic relationship drama, he was modeling it after him and Dany a bit, with a twist. He had the 1970s play he was also working on, about the two sisters. Dany had her upcoming play she was doing and then she would take a bit of a break. He thought about the movie he'd had in his head already, the one of the dragonriders, the family dynasty and dynamics as they struggled to take what was theirs... _with fire and blood._

He just smiled as she began to remove the mustache, his mind racing with ideas. He'd get them on paper soon enough. Once she finished, wiping off the remaining shaving cream and any remnants of his mustache, he blinked up. "Well?"

She stared. A moment passed. Then another. She wrinkled her nose. "You have such a baby face Jon Snow."

 _Baby face!_ "I'll show you." He grabbed her around her waist, hauling her up over his shoulder, laughing as she screeched, kicking her feet and giggling, before he dropped her onto the bed and pounced. He did have to admit, the short hair on her was incredibly sexy.

And they had babies to practice making after all.

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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